written

FinsburyParkCarrots

"The fact that completely different readers can be differently affected by the 'reality' of a particular text is ample evidence of the degree to which literary texts transform reading into a creative process that is far above mere perception of what is written. The literary text activates our own faculties, enabling us to recreate the world it presents. The product of this creative activity is what we might call the virtual dimension of the text, which endows it with reality."

Wolfie

exhale

While you´ll be sitting on the sofa red of love,
I shall ride the evil dragon of the present
And pray the prayer screaming pain,
As you are not here to hold my heart
To keep it safe,
Away from all the bad composing evil poems,
In ever ending days of hoping for a better,
I will not cry my tears to please the earth
So selfish thirsty for my flesh;

I want to leave now,
Paint the scarlet orange on horizon,
Where every man and every boy is walking hand in hand,
And all the bedtime stories can come true;
I will not turn around,
For this would be the very end of my existence,
No bricks to build the gentles dreams with you on side,
No waters making brightly shining buds to blooms,
Just you and I and future memories to hold,
To hold, and nothing more.

Can I tell you, still, while waiting,
To come with me on island of the constant luster.
I know you´re scared of own reflection
No need for mirror in my house on pole.
It´s all perception bound for dreaming
And no exception can bring difference;
It´s my world of ever lasting faith in love,
Love so sacred, so foreseen,
You shall not kneel, nor beg to feel.

FinsburyParkCarrots

Originally posted by exhale
While you´ll be sitting on the sofa red of love,
I shall ride the evil dragon of the present
And pray the prayer screaming pain,
As you are not here to hold my heart
To keep it safe,
Away from all the bad composing evil poems,
In ever ending days of hoping for a better,
I will not cry my tears to please the earth
So selfish thirsty for my flesh;

I want to leave now,
Paint the scarlet orange on horizon,
Where every man and every boy is walking hand in hand,
And all the bedtime stories can come true;
I will not turn around,
For this would be the very end of my existence,
No bricks to build the gentles dreams with you on side,
No waters making brightly shining buds to blooms,
Just you and I and future memories to hold,
To hold, and nothing more.

Can I tell you, still, while waiting,
To come with me on island of the constant luster.
I know you´re scared of own reflection
No need for mirror in my house on pole.
It´s all perception bound for dreaming
And no exception can bring difference;
It´s my world of ever lasting faith in love,
Love so sacred, so foreseen,
You shall not kneel, nor beg to feel.

You know this is beautiful, don't you?

exhale

This blue is that reminds me on your walk,
It´s steady, calm but still so harsh,
Is there a colour that can hold you down,
stings the nerve and makes you cover up.

Strong doubts in one selve´s compatibility
Never change and never run away,
Why stay, when there is no connection
To you and me and phantom ghost.

Please help, so out of words for my defense
Ran out of errors, there are no more to judge,
Condemn my mind of being incoherent,
I´ll believe and I´ll stay still.

exhale

Originally posted by FinsburyParkCarrots
You know this is beautiful, don't you?

Beautiful – the word I seek,
Too gentle, it´s a dream.
I will keep it on the bed frame
To help me sleep, make me serene.

exhale

When you shall sense the energy to speak,
It´s on the grounds, it´s there to reach.
Turned into a better man I will forgive,
Forget, and then come back.
Picking up the crumbles of my broken ghost,
I will proceed with entreaty for all the past
That fell sometime in action because your perfection,
And you will host no smile.
I need a moment there to cogitate upon my self,
Was it worth to dive into the sea of admiration
Just to feel the wind float pass my body when you bow?
There is no end to questions all alike
I could go on and on and still abide
By searching for a glimpse of your eye;
But you would not give up your English humour
Because it makes you so unique, one of a kind
Ignore my face when seized with anguish,
You have seen the same before, not of your interest.
Need another challenge for a reward of many others
That will caress your arrogance too obvious to simple minds,
Don´t look for mine,
Since I´ve accepted what this bond can tender;
I will not give more before you pause
And lean your head on my palms.

anOmis

yer poems touch my soul

i epsecially liked the last one

*S*

exhale

The day is starting after one more night,
I only wonder, how many of the same length will go by,
Should I not close my eyes at all
Or should I fight against the nature and get tired even more?

I feel, again, approaching the night of all the nights,
When all will drink and all will gorge as this was THE last chance;
I don´t grudge them, not at all, cause they assume correct,
It is the last amazing blast, their minds without protect.

I read his words, some time ago: “Chaos is come again,”
Your´re right dear Sir, no change at all, since you´ve put down this claim.
No peace was found, still shouting loud
The dream will still be hunt.

ISN

I think you need to work on yoru poetry....man....(is that allowed....I mean I'm serious)

FinsburyParkCarrots

Originally posted by ISN
I think you need to work on yoru poetry....man....(is that allowed....I mean I'm serious)

I'm not familiar with yoru. Is that like a clerihew?

ISN

no, yoru...is a rastafarian friend of mine....heheheheheh....he's a boy with dreds

FinsburyParkCarrots

I've been thinking about this poem you wrote, exhale. If I were to chisel at it to find the soul that I know is there, I might shape this. I hope you don't mind my doing this. I mean well.

The day is starting again,
after one more night of sleepless starts.
And I wonder again
how many days of these -
these
days of sameness into night and day -
will go by,
and go by.

These days into night couple like hounds
but always, always
without the night's consent:
The moon cries endlessly
"There is no place for me to rest.
I cannot close my eyes at all.
Perhaps I should fight against nature
now,
burning into stillness, fighting sleep."

I feel, again
I am approaching the night of all the nights,
In this blank dull glaze of day-dust now:
Clouds of hope of sleep are burned away.
And as I watch
this dawn
without beginning,
a dawn shadowed by night's curse,
Where all drink the poison draft of ambition,
Hailing the the Sun of Man
In the last-chance saloon of the Final Day,
I can't begrudge the revellers.
No more.
Let them play the day.
I'm weary. Too weary to play.
I'll watch, and let chaos stay,
in hope of an end
to this endless end.




Is that okay? Forgive me for switching the words about a bit, exhale, as I've forgiven you for switching mine about, too.

exhale

Originally posted by ISN
I think you need to work on yoru poetry....man....(is that allowed....I mean I'm serious)

why?

FinsburyParkCarrots

Originally posted by exhale
why?

I agree, exhale; we are all open to constructive or deconstructive criticism as writers, but remarks that are unsupported by any advocacy of aesthetic, linguistic or formal and thematic criteria indicative or even vaguely implicative of what should constitute a 'good' poem, don't count as something about which to be overly concerned. And as an academic in training, exhale, you shouldn't worry about the odd 'critical' fart in your thread, if it has no good theoretical sheeeeeeet behind it.
Carry on writing, exhale.

exhale

Originally posted by FinsburyParkCarrots
I've been thinking about this poem you wrote, exhale. If I were to chisel at it to find the soul that I know is there, I might shape this. I hope you don't mind my doing this. I mean well.

Is that okay? Forgive me for switching the words about a bit, exhale, as I've forgiven you for switching mine about, too.

There is no need for you to apologize,
I shall rather consider myself privileged as your ´distant´ protégée.



thank you

FinsburyParkCarrots

How'd you do those diacritics?
As in protegee? But with the squiggles?
The only fancy thing I can do on my keyboard is
€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€

and Pasta taught me that.

exhale

see, i´m working with a german keyboard (doesn´t mean that i´m german though ) and so tere´s an extra key just for that mark.
however, i´m pretty sure you should have it on your keyboard as well but you´d have to press either ctrl or alt + appropriate key with the mark on it + letter

quite precisely now
hope it´ll work

if not, here are some - I don´t use them as often
´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´```````````````````````````````````````````````````

exhale

Having second coffee, now, this morning,
Gods are crying, wooing all for dawning,
In my era voluptas dolendi covered thought
An absolute tranquillity, no after-sough.

Remotely, rumours, I hear voices dying
Burden, heavy with the grief and sighing.
For love that they´ve committed when two parts together grow,
Meet up with me, to save the souls, for it is not their fault.

ISN

When you shall sense the energy to speak,
It´s on the grounds, it´s there to reach.
Turned into a better man I will forgive,
Forget, and then come back.
Picking up the crumbles of my broken ghost,
I will proceed with entreaty for all the past
That fell sometime in action because your perfection,
And you will host no smile.
I need a moment there to cogitate upon my self,
Was it worth to dive into the sea of admiration
Just to feel the wind float pass my body when you bow?
There is no end to questions all alike
I could go on and on and still abide
By searching for a glimpse of your eye;
But you would not give up your English humour
Because it makes you so unique, one of a kind
Ignore my face when seized with anguish,
You have seen the same before, not of your interest.
Need another challenge for a reward of many others
That will caress your arrogance too obvious to simple minds,
Don´t look for mine,
Since I´ve accepted what this bond can tender;
I will not give more before you pause
And lean your head on my palms.

I wasn't just criticizing willy-nilly........but it might be a language problem.....but what are crumbles....all that comes to mind are apple pies....do you mean crumbs.....crumbles is a verb.....half of it is illogical.....I could go on and on and still abide.....it just could be worked on a bit if working would help.....English humour surely is shared with most of England.....so how can it make someone unique......not of your interest is grammatically incorrect......it isn't a sentence......it might be a language thing, and if so then it's simply a matter of learning English better in order to try to write profound peoms in English.....the reason I commented is because I have a very good grounding in peotry and can see the effort behind these poems....which are tyring to be something....but not being it.....but still, if English is your second language, they are not too bad....but really, they are flawed

FinsburyParkCarrots

Originally posted by ISN
I wasn't just criticizing willy-nilly........but it might be a language problem.....but what are crumbles....all that comes to mind are apple pies....do you mean crumbs.....crumbles is a verb.....half of it is illogical.....I could go on and on and still abide.....it just could be worked on a bit if working would help.....English humour surely is shared with most of England.....so how can it make someone unique......not of your interest is grammatically incorrect......it isn't a sentence......it might be a language thing, and if so then it's simply a matter of learning English better in order to try to write profound peoms in English.....the reason I commented is because I have a very good grounding in peotry and can see the effort behind these poems....which are tyring to be something....but not being it.....but still, if English is your second language, they are not too bad....but really, they are flawed

TONGUE-IN-CHEEK METACRITICAL DECONSTRUCTIVE ANALYSIS OF THE FOREGOING (NOT TO BE TAKEN TOO SERIOUSLY):

(1) The passage demonstrates an excessive use of ellipses.
(2) What might be the language problem to which you refer? 'It' doesn't relate to a proper noun in the context of this statement.
(3) 'Crumbles' is a noun as well as a present participle of the verb 'to crumble'. When I think of crumbles I think of ancient ruins, before pastry.
(4) I thought modernism ushered in an allowance of defamiliarisation techniques, linguistic play and illogicality in poetry.
(5) "Not of your interest" is not grammatically incorrect, though it is genitive rather than the conventional, dative "Not to your interest". I have no problem with the construction as it stands.
(6) Why does absolute mastery of the English language provide the means of producing a profound poem? If it did, then even I would be a good poet.
(7) I have a trained grounding in the study of poetry and I cannot presume to qualify or quantify the effort or intention behind a work. I deal with the words I read on the page or screen and my own responses to them.
(8) The more I learn about literature, the more ideologically bound critical notions of flawed poetry, or 'literary competence', seem to me.

Only teasing you gently, ISN. I lliked your sonnets on olderman's thread.